"Don't you have any sense?" the man demanded, cursing under his breath. "Wandering around like this in the middle of nowhere. Don't you know about the hunts, kid? Don't you know?"

Chris shook his head numbly, even though he knew exactly what the man was talking about. The witch hunts. The terrible people that raided the streets of the city slaying innocent victims. He understood everything.

The man sighed. "My house is down the block. Get in there, okay? It's raining anyway. Don't think that you're welcome there forever, though. I want you out the first thing in the morning. Got it?"

Chris looked up. It was raining, wasn't it? And dark, too. He'd been walking in the city aimlessly for a couple of hours now. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been told to leave the manor. Life was just like that with Wyatt for a brother, so he'd gotten used to it by now. Besides, if those witch hunters tried to grab him he'd surely fling some sort of spell at them. Chris was good at coming up with spells on the spot.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you coming?"

Finally Chris nodded at the man and followed him in the rain. The man's pace quickened and Chris had to run to keep up, but it was only a short distance. Hurriedly, the man jammed the key into the lock and shoved his door open, pushing Chris inside and slamming it shut.

He sighed, looking in Chris' direction. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered under his breath. "Little five-year-olds running around in the street during times like this. What the hell is the matter with you, kid?"

Chris shrugged at him. He couldn't really care less about being in his house. Outside was just as good to him anyway.

"Are you deaf or something?"

"No," Chris snapped crossly. "Are you drunk?"

"What the hell was that?" the man snapped right back. "Drunk? I just let you in my house, kid! That's some way of being grateful. A thank you would have been more appropriate. Idiot kid. Out in the dark."

"You forget that you were out there, too," Chris challenged him.

The man froze. Chris flashed him the tiniest hint of a smirk—just enough to put the man back in his place.

Finally the stranger sat down on the bottom step of his staircase and looked Chris in the eye. "Clever, aren't you? Not the average toddler, I see."

"I'm not five, by the way. I'm six and a half."

"Wonderful."

"So what were you doing out there?" Chris asked.

"Gee, kid, what were YOU doing out there?" he shot right back. "I'm an adult. I don't have to prove anything to you. So either stay quiet and stop nosing around or leave."

Chris reached for the door handle.

"I wasn't serious!" The man grabbed at the handle, making sure it was locked. "I'm not that cruel. You'll get killed out there, dumbass."

Chris laughed. "No, I won't."

The man just shook his head. "You have no idea."

"You'd be surprised."

The two of them stared long and hard at each other. "No questions on tonight, then?" the man offered, sticking out his hand.

Chris shook it. "No questions," Chris agreed.

"So, kid, what's your name?"

"I'm Chris. You?"

"Travis," said the man. "Where do you live?"

"Around," said Chris. Which wasn't a total lie. It was only about ten miles from here and he knew his way home pretty well. In fact, he'd been right up this man's street before; it was a wonder he hadn't run into him before. Maybe he had.

"Okay, then. Keep your secrets. Doesn't matter, you'll be gone in the morning and some other idiot will be burned at the stake tonight instead."

An eerie silence followed that statement.

"Someday it'll stop," Chris said, mostly to assure himself.

Travis scoffed. "Someday when everyone's dead and the hunters break into civil war and all kill each other, it'll stop."

Lights shone outside the window. Travis reached over and shut the blinds. "We barely made it in. The hunters are coming through the town now. Consider yourself lucky."

"They don't check some of the alleys."

"Which alleys?" asked Travis, suddenly curious. "You seem experienced."

"I'm tired," said Chris, twisting the conversation around.

"Up the stairs and to your right," Travis directed him, pointing. "Take off those wet shoes."

Chris obliged, his cheeks slightly reddening at the condition of his sneakers. They weren't his, actually—they were Wyatt's old shoes. But when Wyatt wore them they weren't filled with holes and permanently caked with mud stains. Everything Chris owned was Wyatt's at one point.

Well, there were a few things that Chris could call his own. But they only made him want to cry now.

"Your backpack says Wyatt on it," Travis noted.

"Does it?" Chris said vaguely. "No questions, remember." He headed up the stairs.

"Sure," Trevor snickered, "Wyatt."

Chris rounded on him on the stairs, his face twisted in anger. He immediately suppressed it and put his demeanor back into neutral before saying in a controlled voice, "Please don't call me that. I said my name was Chris and I meant it."

"Alright, then."

Chris took a deep breath and headed up to the room, flicking the lights off and flopping on the bed exhaustedly. Today had been long. It was nearly midnight now and he winced, recalling the day's events. School had been normal. Kids had pretty much ignored him and he only got tripped once, and he'd managed to hold on to his lunch money. Probably because the assembly on bullying last week had scared some of his tormentors off for a while. They'd be back, though. Every year the assembly's morale held them off for a month or so and they'd start again.

Anyway, he'd missed the bus after school because Wyatt had told him to wait for him by the flagpole. Wyatt never showed up, so Chris had to walk the three miles home. And then Piper, his mother, was furious he was late because he was supposed to watch his cousin Paisley while Phoebe and Cole went on a business meeting. She slapped him, because then she was late to set up for the P3.

Wyatt locked Chris out of their room and Chris couldn't get his homework. Then, when Chris tried to make Paisley a sandwich the peanut butter seemingly fell "accidentally" from the top shelf and pelted Chris in the head. After that Wyatt orbed him to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge and left him there, knowing how terrified Chris was of heights. When Paisley started driving him insane, however, Wyatt had returned and orbed him home on top of Piper's plant.

The plant shattered of course, and Piper arrived home just in time to find him stand up in the pile of dirt. She shrieked, throwing his—well, Wyatt's—back pack at him and telling him to leave.

Chris rolled over on his side and blocked out the thoughts. It was just another day. Tomorrow was Saturday, so maybe Piper would let him back in the house again since she'd be gone all day on business.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.